


Immortalizing you in memory lane, may we meet again

by RookieBrown



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, may we meet again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:23:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6168904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RookieBrown/pseuds/RookieBrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post season 3 episode 7. There's no summary, because I don't have enough words to sum it up.<br/>P.S. : Immortalizing you, Heda Lexa or at least I'll try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immortalizing you in memory lane, may we meet again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [I write for myself](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=I+write+for+myself).



> To all the details that might and will be wrong, I'm sorry for that.

Immortalizing you in memory lane, may we meet again:

_“In peace may you leave the shore. In love may you find the next. Safe passage on your travels until our final journey on the ground. May we meet again.”_

That bloodied kiss of Lexa's somehow still ghosted over her lips. Clarke had given up long ago to clean off that blood from her, it had somehow been embodied in her in so intricate ties, that sometimes she worried that maybe they were the only binds that held her together.

Clarke put aside yet another painting of Lexa, her warrior Lexa, her broken Lexa, her just Lexa. She ran her hands over the charcoal painting, over and over again as if trying to touch her through that parchment paper.

 Green, was never of Clarke’s liking for when she was blocked away in some cell on that ark ship she would glance through the pages of the books and would grow envious of the greenery that Earth had or used to have, that green that echoed freedom, one Clarke thought she would never have. But Lexa eyes, her green, haunting eyes stole Clarke’s breathe away the first time she laid eyes on her. So deep, so scarred, so tragically beautiful.  Yes, Lexa was tragically beautiful.

_I want to remember what your hand felt in mine, for the rest of my life._

 The tattoos that embroidered her skin, they ran in such depth that sometimes Clarke would get lost just tracing them to their end. That smile and that melodious laugh of Lexa, that touched her eyes, they were so soft so genuine, they had such symphony in them that Clarke could have listened to them to time ran out. Her fingers, so tender so long, so tough on their exterior but when those hands roamed her body, they felt like silk, they would move they would be everywhere all at once exploring her pulse points, making her crumble but whispering sweet nothings in the brimming darkness. Her kisses sometimes rough, too rough, sometimes soft, too soft as they would match her own lip movements in beautiful synchronization that made Clarke often wonder if they had been lovers in other realm, in other place. If reincarnation wasn’t just some whim, but reality that extended beyond dimension.

The very first and the only time Clarke had been with Lexa, she had felt like a virgin even though she wasn’t. She had felt naked in her own skin under Lexa’s intensified gaze and each touch of hers had been cemented in her soul in ways she couldn’t fathom. Lexa kissed her like she hadn’t been kissed before, touched her as if she was stroking her soul, made love to her as if they were not two but one being.

Clarke had never been a fan of Shakespeare’s but the one thing that she admired about him was how he had seamlessly immortalized his characters in words, words that had been so lethal that they were still taught today. Words, he used words as weapons to strike that nerve, that chord. Poetry had never been for Clarke but art pumped through her veins like blood. She wanted to immortalize her love, paint her name for her, she wanted to bleed in her and now that Lexa wasn’t here, the only way she could immortalize her was through her paintings, her art.

 The civil war that waged the 13 clans that broke the walls of peace, now when that war had been won, the people talked about victory but none uttered the tales of the phantoms, the ghosts, the loves, the families, the countless red that was shed to earn it, none talked about what they had lost to get where were now. Hence, Clarke painted, she painted as if there was no tomorrow, she painted the people she loved and lost, she painted the lives she took for absolution, for penance, she painted her dreams that many a often melted into streaks on nightmares ending as tears on her skin, she painted those endings she hoped she would get. She painted her father, the man who she never got to say goodbye, she painted Lexa who taught to love again.

She remembers still, that yet warm blood on her palms that was spilled as she plunged her sword into Pike’s chest, twisting in from within hoping it’ll break, just like hers broke; how she whispered into his ears that she had avenged the deaths of those 300 innocents, that she avenged the death of her love who died in her arms. She remembers still, how she took out that hunting knife of Lexa’s and slit his throat, how she laid beside his cold body and let her tears meet the ground, screaming Lexa’s name, until her throat ached.

“Forgive me, Clarke. Please.”

Yes, Bellamy had begged for her forgiveness but how could she give that to him when she couldn’t find it in her heart to forgive herself for trusting him. He was a closest confidante, her friend who had stabbed her with a knife that was engorging her insides slowly, painfully, making her bleed without a cut. She felt nothing but pity and disgust for him, from the man he was he once stood; the man with a lion’s heart had turned out to be nothing more than a two faced snake.

“Never show me your face again and consider yourself forgiven. “

_Ghosts are sometimes the only thing she has, they live in scars everywhere._

Wanheda. She was Wanheda, the Commander of Death but to Lexa, she was just her Clarke and to Clarke, she was just her Lexa. This mantle of leadership had been bestowed upon them, none had chosen it willingly, and the weight of this mantle of getting to heavy for her to bear alone. The alliance between the Sky People and the Grounders became engraved, solidified as they stood united that day they fought their enemies - the people under Pike’s leadership, the ALIE 1 and 2 all vaporized in thin air as if they were never here, but at what cost?

The aftermath that struck, it carried with itself not only the emotional turmoil of Commander’s death but it carried with itself the hope for change, change for evolving, change towards a better future, change so that peace would no longer be a dream that was only to be dreamt. Peace became a reality, a song that could actually be sung.

She remembers how 13 clans bowed before her, urging her to be the people’s champion, to be their leader, to show the people to light, to live and not to survive; She remembers the words she spoke at the capitol in presence of the 13 leaders including her mother Abby as she held her head straight, for the Wanheda in her could and would bow to only one, the one who wasn’t even there.

“This peace was Lexa’s dream, this was what she survived for but she was, has always been so much more than that. She owes nothing more to her people now and neither do I. I, thank you for honouring with this position but I’m too tired to carry it. “

That had been her last day Polis and probably at her home too.

“Lexa would have wanted you to be their leader.”

Indra may have said that in a monotone but Clarke had known her better, she could very well point out the hidden truth behind them. _Stay_ , “She would have wanted to be happy but she isn’t here is she? Is my horse ready?”

“Sha, Skai Heda.”

“Stay, Clarke. For me, please stay.”

Abby couldn’t let her daughter walk away from her, this time when she knew that maybe Clarke might never return home to her.

“You know I can’t, Mom. Please don’t ask me again.”

Abby pulled her daughter in for a hug, almost clinging to he, her hot salty tears wetting the linen shirt of Clarke yet somehow she didn’t let go. She held onto her whispering endless countless I love you’s, I’m sorry I couldn’t do more’s, come back to me’s , but none had that spell strong enough to hold her back.  Abby felt her grip lessened as she saw Clarke moving again from her, “May we meet again, Mom.”

At the gates of Polis, Octavia had stood in all her war paint and grounder attire, with Raven and Artemis. She greeted her friends with a small smile, a good bye smile and a _one day when I’m less broken, maybe_  before turning on to Art. Clarke ran her bandaged hand those Artemis’s black fur and the horse wriggled her hair in sheer acknowledgement. Art smelt of woods, hay and a tad bit Lexa, yes, Art reminded her of Lexa, his true owner. Maybe that’s why out of all the horses, she chose Art, the black, regal one who at first had been pretty aggressive with her, but she had survived Lexa, she could suffer anything now.

Clarke Griffin was 18 years old when she fell from the sky on Lexa’s ground who was 21 herself. At 19, Clarke lost her heart and her soul and 14 summers later she still wonders if she had ever moved an inch forward.

_The one way forward, is by living life._

14 long years, Clarke had been far and wide in-betweens, lands she never thought could exist, landscapes so painfully heart-warming sometimes she wished Lexa would have been here with her. She saw sunsets, and sunrises, she wished on each shooting star that fell from the twilight sky, she saw the ocean, learnt swimming. It turned out that swimming wasn’t all that bad. She learnt sword fighting and self defence as she gave up her guns somehow along the lines, she learnt how to be a good healer and how to be a better person.

 She came across clans whose leaders bowed before her, who thanked for the peace that they hadn’t seen in many centuries and sometimes she reached territories where none knew her. Sometimes Clarke wondered what it would be like to start somewhere fresh, begin again maybe.   She learnt and taught, she became a student and a teacher,  she fell but she got up. And often when she would see lovers of different walks of life , she felt a moment’s loneliness but she felt that ghost of her hand on her shoulders. Forever.

Not all days were good. There were bad days as well, some ended in sweats and tears on Clarke’s cheeks, her chest fainting frantically as she could here Lexa’s desperate pleas, _why didn’t you save_ _me_ , Clarke over and over again. Some days she thought she had gone mad and some days she thought that maybe death was the easier way out of this mess. Some days she missed her friends and family, her mom into oblivion and some days the loneliness would just seep into her bones, begging her to give in.

_I wanna chase the sunbeams and rip out the paper dreams_

_I wanna find you in parchment papers_

_Ink you in words, stuck forever._

But most days, her work as a healer would leave her so space to give her a lot of thinking. She was called as a prodigy healer of sorts, healing people of most wounds but sometimes she cursed herself, as to why did couldn’t mend broken hearts.

She would listen to tales of various cultures, most were based on superstitious beliefs anyway but it helped to hold onto some hope. Incarnation. Even now, if someone asked whether she believed it or not, Clarke would most definitely say no, but somehow even amidst all she held on to that thin thread of hope, of reincarnation, that one day maybe she would meet Lexa again, that ancient soul in a young body. Years had passed, 15 years and 7 months yet Clarke searched for that chestnut hair and green eyes, but till date she met none. Sometimes she would get so angry at the ghost of Lexa for making her believe that she would throw her paintings out and about only to safely pick them up from their places and silently apologizing to them for her outburst.

Clarke didn’t stay at one place for too long a time but when she did, she stayed back in this little house of hers, located a bit deep into the woods, almost by the side of the river, a place somewhere in between the Fire Clan and the Boat Clan. Clarke hadn’t set foot in Polis and Arkadia as long as she could remember but that didn’t mean she didn’t stay in touch with her friends. True, it took her years to open up but they were there for her. And this time it seemed till the end of the line. The bleakness of the winter was already creeping in and in this area the temperatures seems to fall steeply well below the zero degree. The fire in her fireplace was already on the verge if diminishing so Clarke much reluctantly pulled herself from her seat and setting turning off her brewing coffee, she pulled her overcoat on herself and headed out towards the shed.

No sooner she led herself out, the north wind assaulted her cheeks and pierced her body’s any exposed skin like needles. The surroundings was already silent in the hollow darkness apart from the constant rusting of the winds and dusk had already settled in and the crimson rays of the Sun was shying behind the advancing blackness. Clarke hurried to her shed, desperately overturning everything in search of the logs but she came out empty handed. She picked up the torch-light and giving a look over at the distant trees, she headed out towards them. She just had to gather enough woods to keep her warm through the night, dying in pneumonia, well that had been something she didn’t look forward too.

She tried to be as silent as possible but she didn’t even try to keep count of the number of times she accidentally stepped on branches, the sounds of which echoed to the infinite distance. _Can you get anymore louder, Clarke? Half of the animals have already been scared off, to which Clarke had once cheekily retorted, and the rest, Heda?_

_The other half are waiting to pounce us, Prisa._

Clarke shook her head almost biting her lips to control her smile. Oh Lexa. Clarke had gone only a few feet in when tiny trinkets of drops fell on her cheek. The drops were cold, almost freezing. There was a saying on the ground that if on the incoming days of winter, it rained, the Gods were apparently testing them for a harsh winter. The wheels on Clarke’s mind had already started turning, _wet woods, wet woods, shit, shit, shit_. Clarke didn’t exactly know what happened but she knew that when her feet stumbled on the rock, the legs lost balance and definitely heard some crack somewhere down her left leg as she met the wet, sloppy ground with a thud.

The torch sprinted out of her hand and her knees and legs were bruised. When she tried to turn her leg over, she was met with agonising pain. Somehow, she scampered across the ground towards her torch, got herself to a sitting position against the stem of a tree. Clarke felt a twinge of pain flash on the forehead, which was slowly oozing out blood now and even any small movement of her left leg, shot thousand bullets coursing through her self. She held onto the torch dearly as she tried to get off from the ground again, and yet again she fell onto the ground with a thud. Clarke couldn’t believe that after all she has been through she was going to die because of a torn ligament and a twisted ankle, alone, all alone in the illuminating darkness.

She herself didn’t know she was about to do it until she started screaming “Help! Help” on the top of her lungs. She repeated her mantra a couple of times until her throat hurt and the next sounds that escaped her where soft cries of hurt. The pain on her head was making her hard not to fall asleep but she knew that was only delaying the inevitable. She thought that maybe she saw a distant shadow closing up on her so she muttered out a “Help!” until the pain finally took over and she slipped into a world of dreamless sleep.

Maybe it was the certain itchiness of her wet clothes or the dryness of her throat or maybe it was just another nightmare, that awoke Clarke from her slumber. Clarke immediately took in her surroundings and she couldn’t say she wasn’t surprised to see herself in her own house. She thought that maybe all of that was a dream so when she got up or tried to, a pain shoot up from her leg at such momentum that it made Clarke scream out in sheer agony.

The cry of the supposed to be unconscious blonde, almost startled a certain brunette who leapt from the resting chair and almost fell in front of the blonde as she ran towards her.

“Are you alright?”

Clarke’s head immediately snapped up to the direction of the stranger only to meet with concerned green eyes.

“Lexa?”

Clarke looked up to her other woman. Her green eyes. That strong jawline, the high cheeks and that chestnut hair. That same face. That almost same face. And those eyes, those green eyes piercing into hers in nothing but fear and concern. Maybe she was hallucinating? It wouldn’t be the first time. The ache in her head returned in full vigour and yet again, for the second time Clarke found herself drifting off to sleep.

This time, Clarke awoke to the mild sunrays that were lazily falling on her face, slightly illuminating the room, almost a perfect shape of light and darkness. The fireplace was already extinguished and as she scanned the room, her eyes fell on that brunette from last night who was apparently curled herself up in the distant armchair, a hand of hers slightly dangling out off balance.

Clarke shuffled out of her covers and with great difficulty and not to mention excruciating pain, she tiptoed to the other end of the room, towards the girl. Yes, Clarke wasn’t hallucinating the other night. Her eyelids were closed, and her legs tugged as closely as possible and her face was almost hidden by her short muffled up bed hair. Clarke wanted to see her face, touch her face, maybe even pinch herself to make her believe that destiny wasn’t playing some cruel, sadistic joke on her. Clarke also knew too well that this girl, whoever she was, wasn’t her Lexa, even though she had an uncanny resemblance to her, even though her green eyes too made her heart beat fast. Clarke wanted to retrieve her already leading hand, but it seemed to have gained a mind of its own. She advanced and very delicately pushed back a strand of hair and tugged it behind the sleeping girl’s ears.

She was about to retrieve her hand, when sleepy green eyes fluttered open and stared into the sea blue ones. Clarke didn’t know, yet again, what happened. She somehow lost balance of her good foot and stumbled backwards only to be caught by tanned strong arms.

“You seem to fall a lot.”

The sleeping girl now fully in a sombre mood asked the blonde one as she went on curiously eyeing her.

“ And you seem to save me a lot. Ouch!”

No sooner that Clarke led out a yelp ,the said girl yet again  carried Clarke onto her bed much to Clarke’s protest that she was perfectly capable of doing that herself.

“Hi.”

“Hello, I found you rather incapacitated in the woods the previous night and seeing this one was the closest cottage I presumed it to be yours, in case you wonder, what I’m doing here, Miss.”

Clarke cleared her throat, “Yes, it seemed likely that something like that would have happened. Thank you and it’s Clarke, by the way.”

The mystery girl smiled at the tardiness of the blonde, Clarke as she graciously took in her hand.

“Of course. I go by Alex even though Lexa is not a bad name either, Klark.”

“The way “Alex” rolled her name spilling out the “k” instead of “c”  made her swoon somewhat and even made her question herself that why wasn’t she Lexa, Lexa seemed so much like her.”

“Who is Lexa?”

Alex asked as she couldn’t completely shun away her curiosity. She didn’t know how to describe it, Clarke was a total stranger to her, yet somehow she was getting around towards her, like a moth to a flame. When she didn’t answer, Alex thought that maybe she had asked something personal, something she shouldn’t have asked, so she apologized profoundly only to be met with a sad smile. That smile somehow pulled the strings in Alex’s heart.

“Lexa was my ai hodnes. She was…. She was my home.

I’m sorry, I just….. “,  Clarke was apologizing already was losing herself in the moment burying her face within the premises of her palms.

“You should never apologize for missing your loved ones. Loved ones are worth every tear, are they not?”

Clarke turned up to look at the girl again. Alex wore worn out khaki pants, with a sort of tank top within and a heavily over-sized woolen sweater and a belt of sorts tied around her waist to hold it up.  She was definitely younger than her, by years, it seemed yet the words she spoke felt as if they were all inked with experiences.

“How old are you?”

Alex apparently feigned shocked as she replied, “And here I thought it was rude to ask a girl her age?”

Clarke chuckled at Alex’s comments, “Well, since in this case a girl is asking another, I don’t think that rule applies.”

“True, true. I have spent 19 summers on Earth and yes, sometimes I feel like I’m an ancient soul stuck in a younger body. I reside in the Fire Clan where I work as a chief blacksmith. And no, I’m not romantically spoken for.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, well in case you wondered, just so you wanted to know, maybe?”

Clarke could almost see her looking at the floor, her eyes suddenly wide like saucers, flying anyone out.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

After a beat, Alex asked, “Tell me your story?”

“Don’t you have work?”

“Being a chief comes with a few benefits.”

Clarke actually laughed this time, that room-filling, rhythmic laugh.

“You should laugh more often, it suits you. “

If Alex had seen the mild pinkish blush creeping up from her heck, she didn’t say anything.

Clarke might have heard the grumbling pleas of Alex’s hungry stomach, which made Clarke smile even more, “ Why don’t you head to the kitchen and I’ll fix your some breakfast?”

Clarke stood in the alone in the living room, letting go that breathe she didn’t even realize she had been holding. The sun was just peeking out, cutting through the throes of what it seemed to Clarke, years of hopeless darkness. For once, in many years, Clarke was actually looking forward to what the day would bring. Hope. She felt that slight hope, brewing inside of her chest, elevating herself for its tightness. She felt a single tear streak down her cheek as she whispered out to no one in particular, “We meet again, my love.”

It was just in that moment’s instant that Alex poked her head past the kitchen wall as she grumbled out inaudibly, I say this with all due respect, but the breakfast isn’t going to be cooked by itself and I get a bit grumpy on an empty stomach.” So are you coming, Klark?”

_Yes._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write to picture perfect you, Lexa. I know you were just a guest star in "The 100" and I know, that just maybe you had to die, but trust me , it doesn't hurt any less.


End file.
